Sisters in Arms
by The Lunar Wind
Summary: When Runeterra is threatened by the ever-stretching grasp of the hungry, relentless void, two heroes must unite to protect their beautiful land in ways they never imagined while discovering how much they care for one another.


_**March 6th, 984 AN**_

When most people hear the word 'sisters,' they typically believe it's two family members that are bound to stand at each other's side since birth. Their purpose? To serve as emotional support when necessary, and to allow the other to lean on them when necessary. However, this story is the exact opposite of this assumption comparatively. This is a story of two sisters — both having severely diverse backgrounds — that were destined by fate to encounter one another and ward off evil to preserve the beautiful land of Runeterra for the general good of all champions and souls alike.

Our journey begins in a moderately sized village of approximately a hundred people in the unforgiving southern deserts of Shurima. The blistering heat generated by the sun served as a reminder for those who weren't accustomed to the temperature of the desert that it was ninety-eight degrees outside. However, it was nothing more than the average temperature for the residents of the village. Children running around with others identical to their age were an ordinary sighting that further supported this fact.

A blanket of darkness eventually enveloped the desert, serving as a signal for youngsters to start making their way back to the safety of their homes. Saying their goodbyes, the children parted ways as they began their small, individual journeys back to their houses. Among the numerous figures was a nine-year-old girl named Kaisa, who was best known for her exceedingly rare black hair while everyone else had brownish-blonde hair. Currently skipping back to her house situated on the outskirts of her village, the girl thought to herself while kicking up sand, "Gee, it sure feels strange being out here when the sun isn't shining."

It wasn't her fault that she felt uncomfortable venturing alone at night. If you asked anyone in the village questions regarding the desert, chances are that most of them would say 'You should never travel the sands alone, especially during the night' — it was acknowledged by many as an unspoken rule. This precaution was strongly advised since locals had reported sightings of figures wearing purple robes aimlessly wandering around the village outskirts. Many claimed they could hear chanting and mumbling about greater forces resting below the sands. This frequent occurrence had been going on for approximately two years now, and the locals didn't expect it to stop any time soon.

The most unsettling part about it all was that merchants traveling from other villages had run into these 'lunatics' on numerous occasions. Some of the encounters consisted of simple staredowns until they were around thirty feet apart. Unfortunately, a select few were much more scarring than others. Although hesitant about doing so, one merchant was willing to recount his story, but it was clear that the run-in disturbed him horribly. "He just isn't the same man I knew five years ago," remarked his wife.

_O - O - O - O - O_

_**January 2nd, 984 AN**_

A table was set in the middle of two chairs, serving as a barrier between two completely different individuals. On one end was a journalist from Piltover sporting elaborate clothing. He wore a black fedora accompanied by a pale ribbon that wrapped around the hat's base. His small, slightly pointed mustache was long enough to twirl if he'd felt the need to. A monocle was positioned in front of his right eye with an attached cord that descended until vanishing behind a plain white business shirt and gray tie. Black pants were tightly held by a belt wrapping around it like a snake coiling their prey. It was finished off with formal black shoes that were polished by the finest shoe shiners.

On the other end was a man who looked like a joke compared to the elegant journalist. His light blue eyes and boots were the only things somewhat close to interesting to the journalist. The simple brown tunic woven with leather from another traveling merchant had numerous cuts; each one represented a unique experience, but to the writer, it indicated nothing more than poor ownership. His light green pants, which were originally gray, but were dyed green due to the somewhat abundant number of cacti, were covered with sand dust previously kicked up by the wind while making his way to the interview. A leather knife holster was sewn into the pants crudely, but it sufficed, proven by how successful it was in holding his hunting knife. Finally, he wore rattlesnake boots that demonstrated satisfying patterns of creamy, rusted, and olive-colored diamonds, giving the impression of a wavy illusion. The boots appeared fairly new, making the journalist wonder how he arrived without them being 'painted' by the desert. "I'm quite fortunate that I came in a truck… wouldn't fancy paying a pretty penny to clean these clothes. No sirree," he thought as he began searching for a blank page in his notebook.

The shuriman man laid his hands on the table, beginning to rhythmically tap his fingers while waiting for the journalist. Thirty seconds in, he was already tired of waiting. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair and withdrew his knife, gliding his index finger over the blade while eyeing the tip. Getting bored of that rather quickly as well, he put a hand on the table. Slightly spreading his fingers apart, he trained his eyes on his hand while simultaneously raising the knife above the gap between his thumb and index finger. Taking a deep breath, he plunged the knife between the narrow gap before swiftly raising it and proceeding to the next gap. When arriving at the end, he backtracked until reaching the start, and then repeated the cycle over and over again, his speed accelerating each time. All the while his eyes followed every single movement, demonstrating an impressive display of eye-hand coordination.

Finally finding a free page, the journalist looked up as his sense of hearing finally returned to him. The first thing he heard was a series of rapid tapping noises in front of him. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw him stabbing a knife into what appeared to be his own hand. Hastily getting out of his chair, he moved his hands to the sides of his head, making sure he didn't hit his monocle as he shouted, "S-Sir, what are you doing?!"

Gazing up, the man offered a reassuring smile while continuing to expertly weave the knife between his fingers like it was nothing. The fact that he wasn't watching what was happening down below made the journalist sick to his stomach. The stunt artist really couldn't blame him, though. When he was young, his mother would always conceal her eyes in trepidation and walk out of the room from the sheer anxiety, but he never messed up. She had no reason to.

"What am I doing? I'm just playing a game I adored when I was young. I cal— Shit!"

Ironically, he somehow managed to nick himself on his index finger right as he was going to speak, causing the journalist to flinch. Stabbing the knife into the table, the man brought his slightly bleeding hand up to his face, shaking it in pain. Tearing off a little cloth from his sleeve with some difficulty, he wrapped it around his finger with a small grunt. Holding the cloth in place, he chuckled. "I called it the Five Consequences. You may be wondering why. When I was younger, my mother believed in five sins, and if you showed signs of them, you were destined a swift and unfavorable outcome. Being the kid I was, I made a game out of it, and still do to this day. In order from left to right on your hand, they are Pride, Luck, Greed, Wrath, and Lust. Since I don't envy anyone, I substituted it with luck. It worked like this: You had to do three cycles on your hand before the game could end. You wouldn't experience any of the sins said to an extreme extent if you were error-free. However, if you managed to cut one of your fingers, you would experience bad side-effects related to it… Now that I think about it, that's the first time I've messed up in a while. Guess that means lady luck won't be on my side today. We'll have to see."

While relaying this generous portion of information, the journalist sat back down like nothing happened, furiously jotting it down in his notebook. When finished, he looked back up, hand not seeming exhausted in the slightest. However, he was slightly bothered by his childhood game. He wondered how some people's children came up with such fascinating, yet questionable things. There was a reason why he firmly believed Piltover was one of the safest cities in Runeterra, if not the best. This was only one out of the countless other reasons that had yet to present themselves to further justify his beliefs.

"Yes, I guess we'll have to see, Mr…? Apologies, I don't think I caught your name."

"The names Tompkin, though people call me Tom for short. Whatever you prefer."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tompkin. My name is Jerry. I would like to sincerely thank you for taking the time out of your schedule to participate in our interview."

"No no, the pleasure is mine. I've never had the privilege to meet someone from Piltover, let alone someone that isn't from around these parts. You wouldn't believe how many people we get claiming that they're not from around here to take advantage of our supposed 'If you're not from around here, we will treat you like royalty' policy and shit like that. In fact, you can easily tell if someone is from around here by how they dress and act. It's plain as day, yet people don't understand that. Seriously, how do you not know how your kind acts? At least demonstrate some effort in trying to pretend you're someone you're not. It's your own people for crying out loud. Anyway, as an effect, they're embarrassed and leave, never to be seen again… Not like I care. I hate liars, and I share the same feelings for individuals that try to take advantage of others for a few lousy perks when you should earn them rightfully."

"I completely agree with you, sir. It's quite pitiful to think someone would go out of their way to impersonate someone. They perform everything correctly, only to not take into account the simple fundamentals of doing so, like the acting and clothing you stated beforehand. Of course, I'm not saying I support people imitating others. I'm just stating that it should be common knowledge. That aside, I think we're swaying a bit off-topic. I think we both have better places to be. I wouldn't want to hold us up."

"I really don't have anywhere better to be, but I suppose you're right. Before I forget, I want to apologize for letting my rant get a bit out of hand. It's a hot topic that I constantly debate with other men in my village. Anyways, let's get this interview underway. Just shoot the questions to me, and I'll get back to you as quickly as I can."

"No need to apologize for ranting. We all need to talk about our feelings now and then. In fact, I highly encourage it. A doctor I recently interviewed said that around sixty-three percent of those who vented about their passions have shown an improvement in mentality and overall condition… Now I'm the one getting off track." Jerry paused for a moment, taking a deep breath like he was about to deliver bad news. "Now, I understand this is a very difficult topic to talk about. I want to thoroughly advise you to take your time in responding to each question that I ask you. We want you to feel as comfortable as possible." The one thing that he neglected to mention was that they also wanted the most fleshed out and detailed answers possible, even if it was one of the most difficult things an interviewee could do.

Nodding, Tompkin removed the hand holding the cloth in place as his thumb and middle finger of the injured hand served as a replacement. Moving to apply pressure to the cloth, he found himself with one free hand. It pulled the knife out of the table with ease. Sheathing it, his hand roamed down to rest on his lap as he looked down at the floor, personality seeming to change at a moment's notice. A few moments of silence went by. Jerry could tell by the look that was glued on Tompkins face that he was hesitating. Despite this, it all came out. The tension and anticipation of the tale finally beginning caused Jerry to slightly lean forward in his chair to hear better as he was at the ready with his pencil.

"The dead of night. I was about to set up camp for me and my horse — I reckon we'd been traveling for around six hours. Hopping off my cart, I began to untie my tent and camping gear. While doing so, I couldn't help but feel someone… something… was watching. My steed seemed to grow restless and anxious too, which rarely happens. Hell, the last time he acted that pent up was when my wife screamed while giving birth to our child. That was ten years ago. I knew there had to be a reason for his behavior."

"A few minutes went by. The feeling still persisted. I couldn't stand it anymore. Grabbing my knife, I turned around to scan for anything out of the ordinary. To my luck, the moon was bright that night — I considered it a blessing from Leona to be such a fortunate man. Anyway, I was partially into my search when I saw a lone, distant figure standing still. Bear in mind that I knew how there had been numerous reports of people allegedly killing themselves out of the blue, but this thing was special. Different. It appeared to be wearing a light purple robe and hood. It wore articles of clothing that slightly illuminated when exposed to moonlight, making it stick out like a sore thumb." Pausing for a moment, he appeared to engage in deep thought before continuing.

"Their hands were held up in a U-shape." His fist clenched. His teeth grit together in pure anger. "Do you know what they were doing? They were actively worshipping in front of my eyes like it was nothing — a threat. I considered it a threat, but I held myself back. I made sure to not hint at any sign of retaliation. Yet."

Looking up from his notepad, Jerry's hand seized as he glanced at Tompkin, raising an eyebrow in interest. "Sorry for bothering you, but please correct me if I'm wrong. Did I overhear you say that you took offense from a man that was supposedly worshipping in front of you? In no way am I criticizing you. I'm just wondering why one would take offense from it."

"It's quite simple where I come from. Any kind of religious worship or anything related to it is considered inappropriate if you're not in a suitable setting. We consider it an offensive establishment of dominance. They believe their god is mightier than our own. To put it in simple terms: It means our deity can't be present due to their apparent lack of authority. From our point of view, every god is equivalent in power, no matter his or her followers. Every follower should be respected, whatever their situation may be."

"Respectable. How would you know if someone is aware of your beliefs?"

"It's difficult to give you a straightforward, honest answer to that one. You can tell by listening to their hearts. Before you ask, no, I am not crazy. Our goddess, Janna, is one who boasts a good reputation upon our small community. If you declare your loyalty to her, she proudly bestows her benefits upon you. But with great benefits comes great responsibility, blah blah blah. If you were to go rogue… well, let's just leave it at the consequences would catch up to you eventually."

Nodding, Jerry recorded this note down before motioning for him to continue the tale.

"I shouted, 'Hello?' to the distant figure. It felt like it had the eyes of a hawk, influencing me to hide the knife behind my back to seem harmless. The closer it approached, the more I heard faint mumbles. I couldn't comprehend what was being said, but I could vaguely make out the voice of a male."

Tompkin got up and paced around his chair before sitting back down, appearing disturbed. Jerry stopped writing and observed the nervous movements he did. It felt wrong to not stop him, but it was a story that had the possibility of being a huge hit back in Piltover. Against his wishes, he let it play out, greed overpowering his decisions.

"I remember some of the words that the man said to me. They were: 'We… The void… Offer you… Join… We promise… For… Contributions to… Savior.' Those were the cursed words that the thing said to me! It p-plagued my mind with nightmarish visions that I wish I never saw! I could s-see the end of the world! P-Purple! P-Purple everywhere! P-Purple things crawling and s-skittering everywhere! A-A-Agh!"

It was at this point in the interview that Tompkin shot up from his chair, eyes frantically surveying the room. The sudden commotion caused Jerry, clearly too focused on recording the information being relayed to him, to jerk and draw an unexpected line through the whole paper, ripping it as he tipped his chair back in alarm. He hit the floor with a thud, pencil escaping his grasp as it rolled across the floor until hitting a wall.

The room reeked of ghostly silence, prompting the eyes of both men to meet. One pair possessed pupils that were bouncing around the outline of the eyelid like a ball trapped in a glass box. Meanwhile, the other set of eyes were frozen dead center, threatening to break eye contact from the mounting tension.

The silence was interrupted when faint mumbles and whispers emanated from Tompkin. Making sure to maintain eye contact, he slinked a hand behind his back to retrieve his knife. However, Jerry caught wind of this rather quickly, shouting, "G-Guards! Guards! Guards!"

In only a matter of seconds, two heavily armored guards and one captain stormed through the door with long, electrified batons. They quickly got between the journalist and knife-wielding man, brandishing their batons as a threat to establish a safety zone. Speaking together in unison, the guards yelled, "Sir, we strongly encourage you to drop the knife! If you fail to comply, we are authorized to use lethal force if necessary!"

The 'possessed' man didn't seem phased from the threat one bit. In fact, he went so far as to bluff a step forward, which could've easily gotten him killed. Fortunately for him, the guards didn't even budge an inch, remaining steadfast. All the while, Jerry gradually rose to his feet, stumbling towards the wall. After gathering his composure, he shuffled around to collect his notebook and pencil with shaking hands before making his way out of the building while muttering prayers of thankfulness.

The village resembled a ghost town now. Only the guards and crazed man remained in the moderately-sized room. Any movement now was to instantly be considered a threat. The guards seemed to look at each other for a moment as if they were trying to decide on something without actually verbalizing about it while keeping a close eye on Tompkin. Nodding a few moments later, they shifted their gaze to the man again. The captain stepped forward, but not before putting his weapon down as he stopped a few feet in front of his men.

"Sir, we're really not here to hurt you, but when you threaten our journalist, that's when there's going to be a problem. As you can see, my weapon is on the ground next to my squadmates. There is no way I can physically hurt you unless I lunge for you. You have a knife and the benefit of the doubt. I have none of those two to any extent. Given this information, I request we sit down and talk about this like civilized men instead of killing each other over it. We're from Piltover, not Zaun. We're here to help, not cause unneeded violence."

Tompkin seemed mentally unstable. Eyes turning a light purple color, it looked like they were overcome by a feeling of lust for someone, but waiting often gave awards. In this case, it was Tompkin appearing to understand the captain despite all of the chaos rampaging through his head. Barely leaning forward, he grabbed the top rail of his chair, dragging it back before sitting down. Placing the knife on his lap, he rested his hands on top of it just in case. However, a few seconds after doing so, his head tilted to the right so it leaned on his shoulder. His eyes also closed, but appeared forced. To the guards, it looked like he was simply resting them.

Narrowing his eyes at the very odd sitting posture Tompkin showcased, the captain took a chair as well, backing up a bit to give him more room as he too sat down. He tapped on his chair twice to signal the two guards behind him to stand behind his chair in case the interviewee turned rogue. They stepped forward slowly, well-aware that they could set off their cornered animal with just one wrong move. Even those that appeared pacified and defenseless could still retaliate with the force of a hundred men.

The captain, lowering his hands to rest on his lap, leaned forward like he was going to have a serious talk with someone. "I need you to try and ignore the 'purple' that's in your head right now and tell me what's going on in that brain of yours. Can you do that for me, sonny?"

His response was lacking.

"Come on, Tompkin. I know you're in there. Where's the enthusiastic man that we knew ten minutes ago? The one that was so confident in his ability to state his opinions."

There was still no response, causing the captain to sigh. He refused to ask any more questions. Instead, he got up, gesturing for the two soldiers to step forward. They stepped forward, waiting for orders.

_O - O - O - O - O_

_**January 2nd, 984 AN**_

A purplish wave washed over the eyes that he could no longer call his. It felt similar to syrup being poured over one's skin on a boiling summer day: viscous and sluggish, except it was a void-like substance spreading over both of his eyes, altering his vision from a natural shade to a light purple hue. Trying to disregard the growing murmurs in his head, Tompkin took ahold of a chair and pulled it back to sit down.

"Don't trust these fools. They're using you," faintly echoed in his head, bouncing around like a shout in a tunnel until eventually fading away.

"But I trust them! Wait, who a—"

"NO! Who I am doesn't matter! What's important is that you're giving them priority over you! Who would you rather trust? Your own conscience or some random guards from Piltover?! You're the villain in their eyes! Right here, right now! Why would they want to talk to someone who just tried to kill an innocent?!"

"They just said that they wanted to talk this out to prevent unneeded violence!"

"You're not getting the point!"

"No, I'm not! You're just irrational!"

"Forget it!" Tompkins eyes began to close against his will. Panicking, he planned to call for help, but before he could, he lost control of his body, prompting his head to fall to its side. Within moments, Tompkin felt his spirit forcefully yanked out of his body by an unseen force, but couldn't retaliate or move. As he was starting to be dragged far below the sands, his body slowly vanished out of view, causing him to open his mouth with what was supposed to be a scream, but nothing came out.

After a few seconds of contemplating his life decisions and how he got into this mess, Tompkin shifted his attention to the hundreds, possibly thousands of violet cave systems that were punctuated with various purple crystals here and there. It was teeming with tiny four-legged lavender creatures with three vibrant eyes that were skittering on the cavern walls and exotic, glowing minerals that he'd never seen in his life — it was plausible that the crystals were worth thousands of coins. The man was dumbfounded by this newly discovered environment, even if it was one of the most horrific things he'd witnessed. Tompkin gawked at the alien-like ecosystem that laid right below their sands. He thought to himself, "How has nobody discovered this yet?! Look at what we're missing!"

His thought was interrupted by a mysterious moan that reverberated throughout the caves, capable of causing a magnitude eight or higher earthquake — it sounded like a whale call. The 'animals' burrowed under the sand and vanished into the cracks the second it sounded. Tompkin was afraid but remembered that he was a spirit, so that made him feel better. Speaking of which, what was he supposed to do? He was a ghost for crying out loud!

Before he could even evaluate the circumstances, his eyes caught sight of an undoubtedly enormous creature with a jagged purple fin traveling beneath the sand. The desire to get a thorough look at it got the best of him, but he couldn't move due to an invisible force keeping him in place. "Guess I won't be getting a better look," he disappointingly thought.

Despite being spiritual, he abruptly fell to the floor. Phased by gravity apparently applying to those that it shouldn't, Tompkin hastily got to his feet as he looked around, not wanting to move. If basic physical laws applied to spirits, what else could happen? Just thinking about it gave him a headache, so he preferred to not dwell on it.

A low humming sound greeted his ears, and it was originating from what he perceived as behind him. Turning around to see what it was, Tompkin observed a luminous purple light from behind a void wall, and it appeared to be moving towards an opening. The source grew brighter and brighter until he finally laid eyes on it. A being wearing tattered violet robes with an ancient dagger tucked beneath the array of clothing floated while slightly leaning forward — its hands were stuck out like it was holding something invisible. The creatures he observed earlier were following right behind it like it was a leader to them. Even the mysterious creature traveling under the sands altered its path to avoid the group but obviously exercised no caution while doing so. The 'thing' seemed to be unaware of his presence, but that all changed when it suddenly looked at him.

Those eyes were the first things he initially noticed. Unearthly and light blue, it felt like they were gazing directly into his mortal soul. If that didn't intimidate him enough, a purple spiral was seemingly carved in the top of its head, giving off an unworldly mist. Tompkin felt unquestionably sick to his stomach. Sure, he'd seen those small extraterrestrial creatures. Those were fine since they were presumably animals that couldn't do any wrong. But this thing… It was different. Sinister. Supernatural. The aura it emitted was dreadful. He could tell it was bad news. Briefly looking at it caused him to conjure disturbing images in his mind. Then Tompkin realized something: the visions he experienced earlier were similar to those he saw just now. Were they connected? No… they couldn't be. It was a coincidence. It had to be.

The entity floated towards Tompkin, but the creatures following stopped, looking at each other while simultaneously seeming confused. It was odd because he rarely, if ever, changed his path. To them, they couldn't see anything but thin air, but the strange individual could see him perfectly fine. Stopping at a reasonable distance in front of him, it scanned him before gazing at his eyes. Tompkin felt frozen in place under its stare as it made a hum of interest. "Greetings, Tompkin."

Tompkin was visibly shaken. Stiffening and backing up, he intended to put some distance between him and the figure. Unfortunately, that plan was tossed out the window when he hit an invisible wall of some sort. Turning the opposite direction, he felt around before finding out he was boxed in. Trying to formulate a game plan in his head, it was interrupted when the figure stated loud and clear, "Relax, mortal. There's no use in trying. You're stuck in here with me whether you like it or not."

Accepting the dire circumstances he found himself in, Tompkin looked back at the figure as best to his ability, trying to avoid showing signs of wavering. However, he couldn't help but notice that it said 'mortal,' leading him to the worrying conclusion that it wasn't human. It was definitely built like a man though, so what was going on here? These thoughts raced through his head, ultimately causing him to shakily respond, "H-How do you know my name? Why am I down here?!"

The supposed leader laughed for a few seconds before abruptly stopping, not a single bit of emotion present. "You're down here because I chose you. I saw something promising within you that no one else showed: Loyalty. But wait! You may be thinking to yourself that loyalty is a trait that everyone possesses. While this is true, I have never seen anyone as qualified as you."

"What's so special about me then? What do I show that no one else does?"

The figure paused for a moment in thought before responding, "When you were a youth, your neighbor owned a dog. Unfortunately, he was later evicted from the village for committing a crime against religion. His dog was tied to a pole and left to rot. Being the young and adventurous boy everyone knew you for, you explored that abandoned house during the night two days after he was kicked out. Plundering everything possible, you eventually reached the backyard. Then you saw the poor creature. Malnourished. Panting. Scared. The sight horrified you, but it also awoke something within you, causing you to march forward without fear and comfort the animal. Digging into your pocket, you gave it the last scrap of food you had and a spare can of water. It rubbed against you, and a bond formed between you two from that day onward. Every single night you would visit and provide the food and water it needed to survive. But it soon passed away due to an illness that was out of your control. That didn't stop you though. Giving the dog a proper burial, you visited its grave every single day until moving villages. That is the type of loyalty I am looking for. One that is loyal to the end of their days."

When he explained, Tompkin felt something tingling in his mind, but shoved it aside. Also, despite being spiritual, a spectral tear formed in one of his eyes. It seemed he was in complete and utter denial. "How do you know that?! No one knew that! Not even my parents!"

"I can't choose someone unless I know a lot of defining attributes about them that deems them worthy. Also, I have my ways of obtaining this information, but I'd prefer to keep those secrets to myself."

"Let me ask you this then: What am I chosen for? I've never seen you in my life!"

"I don't believe you're in a position to question me, but I'll put it quite simply: We've crossed paths in the past, and you have seen me. You just probably don't remember. Allow me to jog your memory. Do you happen to recall the name 'delusional psychopath'? I know I do."

Tompkin, once again, was in complete disarray. Resting his hands on his knees, he leaned forward for support, seeming to grow increasingly paler even though, again, he was a spirit. "T-That was you?! I thought you were some lunatic claiming to be a prophet!"

"I am honestly not surprised. Many claim to be a legendary prophet, but few really are what they say. They do it to try and achieve a higher social status to reap benefits of the lower class."

"What are you t-trying to say exactly?"

"I am saying that I am one of those few that are telling the truth."

"Bullshit! I d-don't believe you! Just take me off of t-this weird fucking spell or whatever that you have me d-drugged on!"

Immediately after stating his feelings about the situation, his vision gradually turned blurry. The 'man' was the only thing that remained clear. It tilted its head to rest on its shoulder as it walked a little bit closer to Tompkin. By now, his vision was pulsing and shaking, resembling someone's vision during an earthquake. "Does this feel like a drug or a dream, Tompkin?!" The voice was horribly distorted, but Tompkin would go so far as to say it sounded like his mother.

His tormentor gradually shapeshifted into Tompkins mother. When his vision cleared, the man noticed that he shrank down to the height of a child as the setting slowly changed from a cave to the inside of a kitchen that seemed all too familiar to Tompkin. It was the kitchen of his old house, and he was sitting down at a table while his mother was across from him reading a book. Against his will or control, Tompkin pulled out the knife he owned as a child. He began to play the game he made up as a child, which was stabbing in between his spread-out fingers at an exponentially increasing speed.

Tompkin eventually stabbed the knife straight into his middle finger. Even though the necessary force to do so wasn't exerted, it pierced right through the table, rendering it stuck. An overexerted amount of blood began to gush out of the wound as he let out a shriek of pain. The mother lowered her book as her eyes slowly trailed from the knife to the boy's face, which was painted with complete agony and pain. She didn't even look half surprised by it. "What did I tell you, Tompkin?"

The boy, who was too terrified to even move his other hand, was rapidly breathing as he literally shouted at her, "W-What do you mean, 'What did you t-tell me'? I have a k-knife through my f-finger for c-crying out loud! P-Please, help me, mother!"

She stood up, appearing very annoyed as she pounded her fist on the table. "I've told you countless times, and now look what happened! You've done yourself in with that damn knife of yours that you sometimes love more than your own mother!"

"I-I apologize, mother! I'll s-stop! Just please help me!"

"You don't need to be sorry because you're not living in my house anymore. Get out," his mother said coldly as she stared him down with a look that could make the strongest warriors freeze in their path. He was a knight, and she was the dragon as Tompkin liked to put it.

His knees began to shake from visible anxiety as he faltered, "B-Bu—"

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? GET THE FUCK OUT!" shouted his mother while pointing at the door with a finger. Reaching down, she picked something up. Holding it in front of the boy so he could clearly see, it was the corpse of the dog that he dearly cared for. With no remorse, she tossed it as hard as she could in his general direction. It landed on the floor beside him with an audible landing as it slid across the floor a few inches before stopping, a smeared trail of blood following its wake. "TAKE YOUR FUCKING DOG WITH YOU TOO!"

Breathing in deeply, he shook like a leaf when he saw the corpse of the companion he once knew. After she threw it, he straight-up broke down from seeing it flop lifelessly in the air. Tears ran down his cheeks like a waterfall as he shouted at the top of his lungs, "NO! I HATE YOU! NO! NO! NOOO!"

Before he knew it, the world faded as he returned back to his grim reality. It was all just a horrible vision. The man was still there, now with his arms folded as he could see everything clearly again. Just like in the 'dream' he just had, tears were still freshly running down his cheeks as he fell to his knees, holding his head while crying out for mercy, "W-What have you d-done to me?!"

Without answering him, the man remarked, "Now do you believe me fool?"

"Y-Yes, I believe you! J-Just please don't do that again! W-What do you want?!"

The prophet offered his hand to Tompkin, prompting the man to look up at the gifted before him. "I want you to join a noble cause with me and my ever-growing army. To show the non-believers that the unification of all life is not impossible, and to state to the whole world that the void is destined to be the gateway to Runeterra's salvation."

Tompkin offered his hand, completely intending to join him if it meant he would be free from this unworldly experience and return back to his body. His decision changed when the prophet declared how he was building an army. How they would show the skeptics that the unification of all life was indeed possible, and how the void was destined to be Runeterra's deliverance from harm. The prophet, about to grab Tompkins hand, was shocked when the hand abruptly pulled away, but then again, he wasn't. "I refuse to bring harm upon Runeterra!"

The prophet sighed and spun around, starting to walk away, but then stopped. Glancing up at the deformed void ceiling where numerous crystal stalagmites hung, he held up a hand. Every last one of the creatures stared up at his hand like it was a beacon. Pointing at Tompkin, he simply stated, "The hard way then. I see. Get him, voidlings," before resuming his walk.

The group of voidlings redirected their attention to the general direction of where their master pointed. Closing and reopening their eyes, every single pupil glowed an unworldly purple shade as they all instantly looked at him. Seemingly narrowing their eyes at him, they started to skitter towards him at an alarming speed, one that Tompkin would've never suspected they could move at. Hundreds poured out of the cracks like ants swarming a food source. He could see at least a thousand of them, and it probably wasn't even a small portion of how much there really were down here. When charging towards him, they ran in perfect synchronization, making it sound like an earthquake shook the realms below. It caused the stalagmites above to slightly shake, but they showed no clear signs of weakness or threat to fall any time soon.

Tompkin, in a slight panic from glancing at the army rushing at him, assumed that this was most likely the army the prophet mentioned, but couldn't be sure. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted to the right where a narrow pathway led up a slope. Unfortunately for him, he hit an invisible wall at full speed, causing him to stumble backward. Turning around to see the army progressively creeping towards him, they were no more than twenty feet away. Presuming this was the end, Tompkin pushed his back against the barrier. Shutting his eyes, he was prepared to accept his fate that he was about to be eaten alive, or be forced to aid an insane prophet in the complete annihilation and conquering of Runeterra.

While mumbling last words to himself, a hand suddenly seized one of his. Slightly jumping while instinctively attempting to pull it away, he turned his head to try and see what held him in its grasp. The only thing he could confidently observe was that it was light-skinned and wore a long white glove stretching to the crook of the elbow before slowly fading into nothingness. Judging by the angle it was at, the 'thing' was probably levitating. Tompkin heard some faint whispers that he couldn't decipher, but it sounded like an ancient dialect. After it went silent, he felt himself being hoisted up by whatever it was, but he didn't question it. As long as he was being raised away from the intimidating horde down below, he was okay with anything.

The voidlings, arriving where he should've been, started screeching when they saw him being lifted off, prompting the prophet to turn around to see what made them so hissy. Realizing what was occurring, the kind and calm side that Tompkin was shown earlier vanished. It was replaced with an angry, chaotic side, leading him to believe it was just an act to try and convince him to join. The enraged being hurried to be where Tompkin would've been as he shouted in anger, "I CAN SEE YOU! VOIDLINGS! GET THEM! DON'T LET THEM ESCAPE!"

Right after his command, thousands of voidlings emerged from the shadows, seeming like they held off previously since they thought a few hundred could dispose of a simple man. The prophet, staying back while the voidlings clambered the walls to try and catch the pair, crossed his hands in an 'X' on his chest, prompting void particles to be pulled from all around him before they were deposited through his torn hood, straight into the purple vortex carved in his head. A moment later, his channeled power was released in the form of a purple beam from his eyes with a loud humming noise. There were two beams at first, but they eventually trailed together to form one, singular beam of violet traveling straight for the pair. Feeling a breeze of wind pass by his head, an aqua-colored shield formed around Tompkin before he could even react. The beam, as an effect, vanished into nothingness when making contact with the shield as it was completely absorbed.

Mesmerized by the astounding magic, Tompkin didn't notice their pause in ascending. The guardian whispered while releasing his hand, "Good luck, Tompkin!" before pushing him away, causing him to go adrift — gravity would have sent him plummeting back down, but an unnatural wind held him up. Flailing his arms to try and control his trajectory, Tompkin was sent spiraling upward by a strong wind. It was so powerful that it took his breath away, rendering him powerless in voicing his feelings about the situation. It just so happened that the gust propelled Tompkin at the perfect angle and through the sand to perfectly land his spirit back into his body, and then his vision went dark. Some may call it a miracle, but it was intended.

A few moments later, Tompkin regained consciousness. Gasping and taking a deep breath, he tried to assess what was going on. It didn't take long to realize that he was being dragged by the arms outside of the tavern and being loaded into the back of a truck. Recognizing that they intended to put him away in jail, Tompkin began yelling, "N-NO! D-DON'T TAKE ME AWAY! YOU D-DON'T KNOW WHAT Y-YOU'RE DOING!" Ignoring him, the guards threw him in before slamming the doors shut.

Getting up and dashing to the doors, Tompkin tightly clutched the barred windows, shaking them like he could break them as he wept. A loud bang sounded on one side of the van. A voice trailed, "Save your crying for the judge." Moments later, there was another series of bangs, trailed by, "He's loaded in. Let's get the hell out of this shithole."

Dark purple essence began to leak out of Tompkins eyes and slowly stream down his cheeks, signifying the void's touch was cured by means unknown to him. But he didn't notice since he was still attempting to get out of this mess, but when the audible sound of the engine starting rang through his ears, he knew it was already too late as the town gradually shrank out of view until completely disappearing.

Tompkin slid down the wall as he held his head in his hands, screaming at the top of his lungs while threatening to tear his hair out from the amount of force exercised. Then he heard a guard scream, "Haha, and then I was like— WHAT THE F-FUCK IS THAT THING?! TURN AROUND! THIS IS SQUADRON NUMBER 7 REQUESTING IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE! WE'RE BEING PURSUED BY A V— WATCH OUT!"

_O - O - O - O - O_

_**March 6th, 984 AN**_

Moments later, the house door abruptly swung open as Kaisa shouted, "Mom, I'm home!" However, the girl only experienced feelings of confusion and worry when the sole response was the audible noise of utensils being moved around with haste in the neighboring room, which was the kitchen.

Gulping, she directed her eyes to observe the doorway. Her legs were beginning to quiver like leaves during a breezy day. Her heartbeat had progressively sped up to where it behaved like a set of drums during a Shuriman festival. It made her nervous. She had never been a victim of such conditions. In fact, her ability to understand real-life never hinted upon the possibility of being robbed or murdered. She was just an ordinary child with an innocent and unsuspecting mind that was trying to enjoy life.

Before Kaisa could comprehend her options, a woman emerged from the dimly lit doorway flourishing an object — a sharp kitchen knife. The female's eyes adopted a panicked expression as they wasted no time in surveying the surroundings. It was only a matter of milliseconds until they settled on the girl.

The penetrating gaze caused Kaisa to freeze within the blink of an eye — it was like she was staring into her soul. It also served as an influence for adrenaline to start pumping throughout her system, flooding it like a rogue tidal wave. Her heart felt like it would burst into a million pieces if it had to endure any longer. If that wasn't enough, her eyes widened in terror, making her body experience the need to flee or pray that she somehow made it through this unharmed, let alone still in one piece.

And then there was a clattering sound of something falling to the floor. Kaisa saw the woman rushing at her. Thinking it was the end, she stood still, closing her eyes tightly… only to be squeezed in a tight embrace. Opening her eyes, it didn't take her long to realize that it was her… mother? Beads of emotion instantly started to run down both their cheeks as the woman pulled away to look at Kaisa in the eyes. "K-Kaisa! I'm so s-sorry! I didn't know it was you! I thought you w-were one of those horrible void creatures! Please forgive me!" A terrified expression shifted to sadness as Kaisa re initiated the hug, nodding her head in understanding and forgiveness, muttering, "It's o-okay, mother. You're just t-taking precautions."

No more words were uttered in the following moments as they hugged, silently enjoying each other's company. They hesitantly disengaged the hug as her mother looked Kaisa in the eyes. "I t-thought I told you how I don't like you g-going out of the house! You know how d-dangerous it is with all of those w-wandering lunatics and alleged prophets! I wouldn't be able to l-live with myself knowing that I let you s-stray off and never saw you again!"

"B-But mom, it's so b-boring! Surely one night didn't hurt! My friends hadn't s-seen me for two months! T-They thought I moved because I s-stayed inside for so long!"

"One night was almost the last because I almost sliced you! I d-don't care how long they haven't seen you. The only thing I care about is your safety. Understood?"

Sighing, Kaisa was generally sorry for what she did. "Yes, mother."

Picking up the knife and fully standing up, the mother gestured to Kaisa to follow her into the kitchen. "Good. Now let's go have some dinner and forget about this. Gosh, I can already feel your father breathing down my neck for this."

Nodding, the daughter followed her mother to the kitchen. Pulling out a chair for herself, Kaisa sat down to rest her head against the table while the sounds of dishes and utensils faintly rang throughout the room as her mother prepared their plates. A plate placed in front of her beckoned the lifting of her head as she looked to see what tonight had to offer. Dinner consisted of red meat, corn, and peaches.

Kaisa, shocked by the fact that peaches were apart of this meal, looked to her mother, who seemed to be holding in a laugh. The ecstatic girl nearly yelled, "How did you manage to get peaches?!" The mother, smiling at how delighted Kaisa appeared to be, responded, "A traveling merchant came through here with his horse about two months ago. Your father and I had some spare money, so we decided to buy something for you. It just so happened that he had a few cans of peaches to sell."

Her smile only stretched wider, but then slowly faded, being replaced with a frown. "When is father going to come back anyway?"

Silence filled the room as her mother deeply sighed. "I don't know yet, honey. Your father is a hard-working man. He comes back when he can. Traveling to villages scattered across Shurima is quite a challenge. Believe me when I say that he will be back."

"It's not that I don't trust you. I'm asking because my birthday is tomorrow! It wouldn't be the same without him. The only thing I have to remember him by is pictures and gifts."

Standing up from her chair, the mother walked over to kneel in front of Kaisa. The girl turned to look at her mother in the eyes. A tear formed in one of the mother's eyes as she looked away, wiping it before looking back at her. Taking ahold of Kaisa's hand, she sniffled. "Before you were born, your father told me he would be gone for long periods because of his job. He said it would be difficult for me to raise a child alone. He felt bad for it. So bad that he almost quit his job to support me. But I wouldn't let him. You know why?"

Kaisa shook her head.

The mother plunged her free hand down the insides of her shirt. A few moments later, she fished out a golden necklace with a ring stranded on the end. Clutching it in her hand, she looked back at Kaisa. "This is why."

Kaisa tilted her head and studied it for a moment as her hair partially draped over half of her face. "Because he gave you a necklace?"

Chuckling, the mother moved her hand to push the hair aside before initiating proper eye contact with Kaisa. "No, silly. It's because we love each other. It stands as a symbol of our everlasting love. The day we crossed paths was the day we both knew that we were meant to be. I don't love your father for buying me elaborate pieces of jewelry. I love him for the man he is. That reminds me of an old saying that my mother always told me: 'Gifts can't buy genuine love, but genuine love can buy things far greater than physical commodities.'"

Kaisa seemed generally puzzled by the big wording used by her mother. Noticing how troubled she appeared, the mother took it into her own hands to properly word it for her. "We love each other, and the necklace represents that. When we met, your father and I both knew we would be together forever. He always gave me fancy pieces of jewelry, but I don't love him for that. I love him for who he really is. Always remember: Gifts can not buy real love, but real love gives things that are much better than objects. You are a prime example."

Kaisa's heart felt weak from her mother's statement as she shined a warm smile, trying to hide her feelings, but her mother saw right through it. Initiating another embrace with her daughter, she whispered into her ear, "Never forget how special you are to us, Kaisa. You don't know how blessed I am for your father stumbling across my desert tribe fourteen years ago, but you have no idea how blessed we both were when Janna gifted us with such a beautiful, sweet girl."

Sniffling a bit, Kaisa responded, "I w-won't, momma. Never."

Pulling away, her mother smiled, dropping her necklace back into her shirt as she stood up. "I'm happy to hear that. Now let's finish our food so we can get some rest. We have a big day ahead of us. Especially you."

The rest of the night was peaceful and relaxing. Kaisa ate her food at a leisurely pace to savor every piece she could, especially the peaches. She didn't know how long it would be until she could eat another peach, so she treated this like it was her last opportunity. Her mother did the same, but she kept a very watchful eye just in case something else chose to show itself.

Finishing their food, the mother put all the dishes and utensils in the sink before following Kaisa to her room. After getting under the covers, fluffing her pillow, and making sure that she was as comfortable as possible, her mother sat down next to her. Taking the little girl's hand, she sang a quiet melody about Janna before leaning forward and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Sleep well, my blossom. W— I'll see you in the morning."

Kaisa smiled, not seeming to notice her mother's stutter. Her eyes turned soft as she whispered back, "Good night, mother."

Getting up, the mother closed the curtains and blew out a candle. Turning back to look at Kaisa, she waved goodnight before closing the door, leaving Kaisa in complete darkness. The girl didn't have a problem with that, though. It gave her time to think of the possibilities of what was going to happen tomorrow! It was her birthday, after all! But she knew that she shouldn't get too ahead of herself since she wanted to save that energy for tomorrow. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before gradually drifting off to the world of dreams.


End file.
